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Oh! death will find me, long before I tire Of watching for you and swing me suddenly Into the shade and loneliness and mire Of the last land!

Rupert Brooke

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Rupert Brooke
Age: 28 †
Born: 1887
Born: January 1
Died: 1915
Died: January 1
Poet
Rugby
Warwickshire
Rupert Chawner Brooke
Rupert Chaucer Brooke
Lasts
Swing
Last
Tire
Death
Swings
Find
Shade
Long
Loneliness
Suddenly
Watching
Land
Mire

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A kiss makes the heart young again and wipes out the years.
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Down the blue night the unending columns press In noiseless tumult, break and wave and flow
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I have been so great a lover: filled my days So proudly with the splendour of Love's praise, The pain, the calm, and the astonishment, Desire illimitable, and silent content, And all dear names men use, to cheat despair, For the perplexed and viewless streams that bear Our hearts at random down the dark of life.
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Incredibly, inordinately, devastatingly, immortally, calamitously, hearteningly, adorably beautiful.
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All the little emptiness of love!
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.. . . would I were In Grantchester, in Grantchester!
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These laid the world away poured out the red Sweet wine of youth gave up the years to be Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene, That men call age and those who would have been, Their sons, they gave, their immortality.
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Store up reservoirs of calm and content and draw on them at later moments when the source isn't there, but the need is very great.
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There's little comfort in the wise
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Breathless, we flung us on a windy hill, Laughed in the sun, and kissed the lovely grass.
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But only agony, and that has ending And the worst friend and enemy is but Death.
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Cities, like cats, will reveal themselves at night.
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In your arms was still delight, Quiet as a street at night And thoughts of you, I do remember, Were green leaves in a darkened chamber, Were dark clouds in a moonless sky.
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Proud, then, clear-eyed and laughing, go to greet Death as a friend!
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Love is a breach in the walls, a broken gate, Love sells the proud heart's citadel to fate.
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Hearts at peace, under an English heaven.
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I have need to busy my heart with quietude.
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And in that Heaven of all their wish, there shall be no more land, say fish
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Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond But is there anything Beyond?
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Canada is a live country - live, but not, like the States, kicking.
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